pit stop

I love traveling but I also love coming home.  And this time I’m home just for a pit stop.  I barely unpacked my suitcase before I had to pack it again.

Even though, once again, I’m leaving for the airport at a ridiculously ungodly hour, I’m not complaining.   Because I’m flying to spend a few days with my sister and Paul,  the Lance Armstrong of the law,  a.k.a  the King of Pies.  

Last seen sharing dessert with me a week ago in Chicago, they’re now in Aspen.  I think Paul must be recovering from his week on the road—I’m not sure what wore him out the most—-the biking, the blogging, or the baked goods.